Crackers
by lilkyonkyon
Summary: Only someone completely insane would stand muttering on a field of battle. Ergo, Merlin was completely insane. Reveal fic. Oneshot.


This show cracks me up.

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**Crackers**

Why were the prince's hunting trips always such a pain in the arse?

"_Duck_!" Arthur bellowed, and Merlin hit the ground with a sickening _squelch_. Then, "Move! Move! It's coming back!" But when he tried to rise, the mud tugged at his tunic until he flopped unceremoniously to the ground.

"Aw, I just washed this shirt," he groused, taking no notice of the monster that buzzed past his head.

They were in a small forest clearing filled with mud, muck, and rotting tree limbs. Oh, and a gigantic creature that greatly resembled a snake with feathered wings. Their horses were long gone, having bolted at the first sign of trouble, and also taking with them every other weapon they had besides Arthur's sword. The pair was now left to duck and dive amongst the tree remains while this ravenous… snake-bird, was it?—tried to murder them. "You just _had_ to step on the nest," Arthur said for the umpteenth time.

"Yes, I know," Merlin cried, "and I believe I already apologized for that!" He let out a yelp as the creature whipped its tail towards him. "Maybe I could have avoided the nest if someone hadn't _shoved _me into it!"

"Oh, sure. Blame _me_!" Arthur did a leaping tumble out of the creature's range, which was really impressive, considering the chainmail and all.

"I think I will!"

That settlement, of course, did little to solve their real problem, which was currently shrieking in the clouds overhead.

"Do you even know what that thing is?" the prince called, eyes trained fiercely on the monster. His sword was held at the ready.

"Well obviously. I don't just sit around all day waiting for you to tell me what to do."

"And? Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"

"It's a—oh, what was it?" He snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory. "It's a… oh! A snird!"

"A what?"

"Snird. You know, a… snake-bird…."

"You have absolutely no idea what it is, do you?" Arthur shouted, attempting a flailing stab at the creature's tail.

Merlin scoffed as he dodged behind a large stump. "Oh, like you know any better. I swear to you, it _is_ a snird. They're very territorial and _very_ poisonous."

"Fantastic." The monster screeched. "As ridiculous as you sound right now, I'll try to avoid getting bitten anyways."

"Your trust in me is always inspiring, my lord."

Arthur found himself rolling his eyes. Even in great peril, Merlin always took the time to be perfectly irritating. Another piercing cry distracted him from his idiotic man-servant. The monster had been circling above him, but it was now arching into a dive, body straight as an arrow. "Find cover!" Arthur jerked his sword into the ready stance and braced himself for a blow.

It never came.

A ball of mud lobbed into the air and hit the beast square in the eye. It pulled up from the dive, narrowly missing Arthur's range of attack. While it sailed away to recover, the prince whirled. "You _idiot_!"

Merlin's triumphant grin vanished. "What? Not even a 'nice shot, Merlin'?"

"I had a clear strike with my sword! I don't think _mud_ is going to kill it!"

"Oh? And what would you know?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. His kingdom for a goblet to chuck at his servant's head. "If you're so smart, then how _do_ we kill it?"

Predictably, Merlin's false confidence faltered. "Um…."

In the meantime, the creature rid its face of the mud and began to sail back towards them. "Well?" Arthur prompted desperately. Both of them dove headfirst into the muck to escape the creature's mouth. "Any time now, Merlin!"

The warlock balked. He knew how to kill it, all right. In his reading, he had found that this creature was of magic; therefore, it could only be defeated with magic. But if he told Arthur that, and then the monster was defeated… well, Arthur was pretty thick, but Merlin was sure he knew how to put two and two together. And he didn't quite have the time to come up with lame excuses or trivial explanations. Not when he was neck-deep in filth and constantly in danger of losing Arthur's life, or—worse—his own. "It, er… uh…."

"_Merlin_!" the prince hollered over the monster's din.

"Sorry! I've… forgotten!"

"You have _got_ to be _joking_!"

"Just hit it with your sword or something! You're _really good_ at that!"

Arthur shot him a glare that would have looked murderous had he not been caked in mud. Correctly, Merlin surmised that flattery was not going to get him out of this. Nothing but magic would. Maybe it was time to tell the prince after all. He searched the field for some way to speak to the prince uninterrupted. His eyes alighted on a massive log, maybe twenty strides away. "There, that large tree. Meet me over there. It should buy us some time!"

With the agility that only a warrior could possess, Arthur made a run for cover, dodging the beast's strikes with ease. Merlin's scrambling wasn't nearly as graceful; he'd lost his boot somewhere in the mud and was torn between searching for it and keeping his head.

Another cry came from above—Merlin instinctively crouched to the ground, but when he peered into the sky, he saw the monster curl downwards. Its wings were drawn to its body in an arching dive. It was heading straight towards him. "_No_!"

His eyes flashed. In an instant, time slowed to a crawl. Relieved, Merlin exhaled heavily and then rooted around for another moment. There it was! He yanked his boot free with a wet popping noise. His fears alleviated, he half-trotted, half-slid over to the log, where Arthur looked ready to run back in the fray. With another burst of magic, Merlin righted time. The creature, unable to stop its dive, crashed into the bog in a wave of sloppy earth. Arthur took two steps into the field. "Oh God, _Merlin_!"

"What?" The blond whirled to face him, his countenance alive with terror. Merlin frowned at him. "What?" he repeated. "I'm just trying to get this stupid boot on."

"But—how did you?" Arthur looked between the creature struggling in the mud and Merlin struggling with his footgear. "I saw you. You were over _there_."

"No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you _were_!"

"Come off it, I followed you. How else would I be here?" The blond glanced back once again before finally deciding to let the argument pass. Arthur had always been shockingly dense about his servant's magic. That came as a relief for the warlock—he had always dreamed of revealing his magic doing something noteworthy, not using it to find his shoe.

The prince slid into a seat next to him, still looking shell-shocked. "The beast is stuck," he said at last. "If you have an idea, now's the time to share it."

Merlin definitely had no other choice now. He would have to reveal his powers.

Well, again.

Hopefully this time would be much cooler.

"I do. But I don't think you're going to like it."

"What is it?" he inquired, eyes still roving the battlefield.

"I'm going to kill it."

"_What_?" He now turned to fully face him, looking positively alarmed.

"You're just going to have to trust me."

"_Trust_ you? Merlin, let's be honest, you can barely pick up a sword. Wait, _Merlin_!" But it was too late—the boy was already plodding away from him, as fast as his gangly little legs could go. Arthur swore and made after him. The dolt didn't even have a weapon! "_Merlin_!"

The young warlock, in the meantime, had made it to the serpent just as it rose from the mud. It slithered tall in front of him, eyes alight, wings spread wide to reveal flecks of every colour in the rainbow. It hissed and bore down on him. Merlin made sure to stand tall and proud, even if he was covered in mud and clay, and even if he smelled like rot.

Because, damn it, this was going to look awesome.

"_Asithiris_," he began triumphantly,_ "eri staturu… menin_—uhf!" He heard more than felt the whoosh of breath leaving his body, which was soon followed by the gentle sucking sound as his head smacked the muddy soil. It sounded like… _thhhwk_! The beast took off and sailed overhead, weaving through the spots in Merlin's vision. His ribs ached. This was so not awesome.

All of this happened in less than a second, so he didn't blame himself for missing the shouts in his ear.

"…absolutely insane?"

He croaked, "Whaaat?"

"I said have you gone absolutely insane? Mad? Crackers?!" It was Arthur on top of him—crushing him, mind you!—and calling him names in the middle of a fight to the death.

"Geroff me," he moaned. "Your armour is killing me!"

"Really? My _armour_ is killing you? Because I'm sure this armour just saved your bleeding life!" He still rolled to one side, allowing Merlin his first lungful of air. It tasted heavenly. Beside him, Arthur continued ranting, "What kind of… of _idiot_ mumbles incoherently at monsters when they're trying to kill him?"

Merlin was too busy sucking in oxygen to reply. He was also too busy to notice the monster wheeling higher into the sky for a second attack. Arthur noticed, though.

"Merlin."

The boy made no sound of acknowledgement.

"Merlin!" Arthur shook him.

"What?" he snapped as the beast started to dive.

"Merlin, _move_!" The prince shoved him left before rolling right, just in time to dodge a killing blow. His shoulder seared in pain. He must have been hit, but it would be fine. Just a graze. Dazed, he pressed his hand to the muscle and felt blood spurting from the wound. That fang was sharp enough to pierce metal? And why did he feel… so….

"Arthur!" wailed the talking wind. The prince lolled his head to one side, as if floating in a pool. Merlin appeared to be a million leagues away. He also appeared to be some sort of shape-shifter. His outline blurred and faded and squirmed about. Maybe there were two Merlins? "Arthur, don't move! The beast is poisonous!" they chorused. "Stay still."

"I am," Arthur tried to say, but he only succeeded in screaming. Because that's when the pain started.

Merlin flinched back when Arthur began to shriek. If he remembered the passage correctly, Arthur had a precious few minutes to live before the poison carried him beyond saving.

"Come on, come on, think, think," he chanted to himself, alternately hovering over the prince and dodging the snird. Arthur screamed again, a wail that tore into Merlin's skin like daggers of ice. "Shut up! I'm trying to think!" The prince must not have heard, since his hoarse shouting grew worse—

Wait, he couldn't hear?

Merlin scrambled back to his feet, shoes slopping in the mud, just as the snird came in for one final dive. "This is it!" Merlin shouted. He whipped his hand in front of him, and his voice bellowed deep from within him:

"_Asithiris eri staturu menin salishim_!" Thunder and fire erupted from his open palm, striking the beast full in the mouth. It squealed and cried, thrashing in the air, before erupting into glitter and other magical gunk that Merlin tried to avoid getting on his clothes at all cost. It wasn't as awesome as he wanted, but all in all, it wasn't too shabby. Besides, it was entirely possible that Arthur wouldn't know about it.

Another wail interrupted his thoughts, and he turned back to his companion. "Hold on, Arthur!" he shouted over the blond's cries. "I have to remove the poison. I—damn it, stop moving!" He managed to latch on to the prince's jerking limb and place his hand on the wound. "_Reterum demusith venufuera_," he whispered. Then, as steadily as he could, Merlin pulled his hand back. Arthur's yelling and thrashing intensified, but Merlin focused on the clear strings that followed his fingertips, lengthening as he pulled. It was the venom. Again and again he repeated the spell, wiping sweat from his brow whenever he could. Each pull must have been agony to the prince, but the strings were growing thinner. It was working. After what seemed like hours, his spell finally found no more poison.

The prince would live.

"Arthur, can you hear me?" Merlin gingerly lifted his head into his hands, and the blond moaned. "Arthur?" He shook him gently, but it was no use. The pain had carried him to near unconsciousness. Desperate, Merlin searched his surroundings for something—anything—that could help him. But who was he kidding? He couldn't even support Arthur's dead weight, not with the mud, the armour, the mail. He needed aid, and there was only one creature he knew that could help him now.

He turned his grey eyes skyward, jaw set in determination. His voice, from deep within his belly, echoed through the woods around him, harsh and powerful. In moments, wind stirred the trees around him, and the Great Dragon settled before him on the mud.

"I see that you are in need of my help once again, young warlock," he intoned, amusement lacing his voice. "I know the location of a nearby river, if a bath is your need."

"Please, carry us back to the castle. Arthur is unconscious, and I cannot carry his weight."

"Then how do you expect Uther to believe you carried him all the way back unaided?"

Oh. Merlin hadn't thought of that.

The dragon chuckled. "I shall take you to a cave near Camelot. There, Prince Arthur will recover from his injuries. It shall not take long. By the next morning, you may return to the castle."

Arthur stirred on the ground when his name was mentioned, but his eyes did not open. Merlin exhaled noisily. "Thank you," he said to the dragon. "Really, thank you."

"This is all you wish of me?"

"Yes."

"Then let us waste no more time." Kilgharrah bowed his head, allowing Merlin to clamber up to his spine. The dragon then took Arthur up in his claws before taking to the air with a sweep of his wings.

The sky was darkening when they landed at the mouth of a cave. Camelot lay not far away; Merlin could see the glow of the fires from the citadel. "Thank you," he said again. "I'll not forget this."

"It is of no consequence, Merlin. We both have the same future in mind. Arthur will be strong enough to walk by dawn. Get some food and some rest."

"I will," Merlin called to the dragon as he rose into the dimming sky. "Take care!" At his feet, Arthur moaned and tried to turn over. "No, don't do that," the warlock tsked, kneeling down next to him. "Try not to move. You'll be dehydrated and sore."

"Is that you, Merlin?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God. I thought you'd be dead by now."

Merlin snorted. "Nope. Sorry to disappoint." The prince didn't appear to hear him; instead, he retched up lunch with a pitiful cough. "Oh, God…." Gagging a little, Merlin dragged the prone body towards the cave entrance. It took all of his strength to prop him up against a stone. "I hear a stream nearby. Just wait here."

"Where else am I going?"

Through heavy-lidded eyes, Arthur watched his servant nod and scurry off towards the woods. He still wasn't sure how Merlin had gotten him here, though he remembered plenty of wind and a deep, wizened voice. He could also recall fire, and searing pain, and other unpleasant memories that made him feel ill all over again.

"Arthur, please drink."

He hadn't heard Merlin approach, but he recognized the voice, and he was downright grateful for the cold water that trickled into his mouth. He closed his eyes and drifted off, yet moments later, he was forced to drink some sort of draft that left him sputtering for air. "What in God's name was that?"

"It will help you absorb liquid and nutrients. Don't be such a girl."

"I am not a girl!" he retorted, easing himself into a more comfortable position. His shoulder burned something awful, but it no longer bled freely, and his head was hurting less after the medicine. "What are you doing?"

"I'm composing a sonnet," Merlin replied sarcastically. He was actually stacking small bits of wood, the start of a fire. At his feet lay a pair of rabbit kits.

"Water? Rabbits? How did you get so much done so quickly?"

"Quickly?" he scoffed. "You've been asleep for three hours."

Arthur lifted a hand to his head. That headache was already coming back full-force. "Oh." Thoughtful, he settled back and watched Merlin start dinner. For once, the boy was quiet, focusing all of his attention on cleaning the rabbits. He was humming as his knife slid through the fur. "Thank you," Arthur said at length.

"Hm? For what?"

"You saved my life." Arthur frowned. "Though I can't say I remember how you did it. What I do remember… well, it's a bit queer."

Merlin rocked back on his heels. "In what way?"

"Well, for one, you had fire _literally_ _pouring_ out of your palm."

"What?" He laughed until he had a choking fit, then he cleared his throat and said, "No. No, that's impossible. You were seeing things."

"Seeing things?" Arthur repeated. Merlin nodded, still chuckling. "So… you're saying that the hellfire that sprouted from your hand, and the strings you pulled out of me… and God, the _dragon_…."

"Nope, never happened." His servant shook his head wildly, an inane grin appearing on his face. "It must've been the poison's hallucinations. I hear they're awful."

Arthur stretched his mouth into a thin line. "Right." Seeing was one thing, but he remembered feeling the strange fires warm his armour, the web-like threads tear from his muscles—and the jerking flight that almost made him get sick all over the forest. Then again, how could those things have been real in the first place? They sounded absolutely ludicrous, now that he'd said them aloud. "They were so vivid… but I guess… you're right." To take his mind off of the subject, he asked, "So if it wasn't fire and brimstone, then how, exactly, _did_ you vanquish this monster?"

The boy shrugged uncomfortably, skewering the meat. He dangled it over the flames. "I didn't _vanquish_ him, per se. You know, just a manner of speaking and all. It was actually the… er, gravity."

The blond stared long and hard at his servant. At length, he repeated the word, as if tasting it. "Gravity."

"Yes." More silence. Arthur merely watched him, waiting for Merlin to start babbling. It was his most reliable trait, after all.

His patience won out. Merlin continued, "You know. Its wings. They got… tired."

"Of course. Because that happens all the time to birds and other flying creatures."

"Exact—oh wait. I see what you're doing here." Merlin simpered. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Yes I am," Arthur haughtily replied. "The only reason I haven't entirely rejected your so-called theory is because the only other logical explanation is—"

The prince halted as he felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake him. The sickness was a result of his entire world flipping upside-down in a matter of seconds. He pressed a palm to his forehead, fighting the dizzy spell, and trying to think. _The only other explanation is…._

But it couldn't be. It couldn't. No, it simply wasn't possible. He knew his servant as well as he knew anyone else in the castle. Merlin was goofy, and clumsy, and—yes—a little insolent at times, but he was not a traitor to the king. That would be like discovering the sky was actually clear, that lakes weren't really blue, or that the earth wasn't the centre of the universe. They clearly weren't true, and neither was this: Merlin was not magical. He was _not_.

Was he?

It certainly explained a lot. Like how he never was injured. How he always found a way out of tight spots. How he saved the day without fail.

"Er, Arthur?" The blond immediately refocused. His servant was watching him, brow furrowed, concern in his dark eyes. "You were saying?"

"I was saying what?"

Merlin huffed in nervous laughter. "You said you had another explanation, or something."

"Oh, right." He laughed, too, if only to take his mind off of this horrifying revelation. No, sorcerers weren't dolts like Merlin. They didn't laugh. They weren't friendly.

Oh God, was his servant really a _warlock_?

"The only possible explanation is that you're luckier than I thought."

The boy laughed. "Yeah, right. Lucky enough to wait on your Royal Arrogance."

But Merlin really was lucky, wasn't he? He'd lived in Camelot for years now, and yet he still hadn't been suspected of practicing magic. Then it all came back to Arthur in a flood of sickening memories. Of course, he had! Multiple times. He'd also been captured, beaten, lost, and near death more times than Arthur could recall. Weird things always tended to happen when he was around. Yet here he was, perfectly fine. What else could it be but magic? The most disconcerting of all was this: if Merlin possessed magic, then why was he, the crowned prince of Camelot, still alive and well? If his father was to be believed, Merlin would kill him at any opportunity.

"Do you want some rabbit? It's done."

The prince looked up from the fire to see his servant holding out a hunk of meat. Silent, he took the proffered meal and sunk his teeth into the flesh. It tasted terrible, but then again, Merlin's cooking was never terribly consistent. _It's not poisoned_, he told himself fervently.

Merlin took another bite of his half of the rabbit and averted his eyes. Something was troubling Prince Arthur. He could tell because he'd accidentally dropped Arthur's half of rabbit on the ground, yet the prince hadn't said anything. Warily, he watched him take another bite of what must have tasted like very gamey dirt without complaint. "Er, Arthur, are you sure you're feeling alright?"

"Perfectly." He cleared his throat. He nibbled at the rabbit. He squirmed in his seat. "Merlin."

"Hm?"

"You're my fr"—he cleared his throat again—"servant, right?"

Merlin hesitated. "Yes…?"

The prince didn't give him a chance for further comment. "Right. And you know that it is your duty to keep me from harm. To watch over me, if you will."

"Isn't that what fr-servants are for?" Merlin inquired with mock-innocence.

Arthur glared, but continued normally. "You… you do your job well, Merlin. And I hope that I will always have you to depend on."

"Right, and what's brought this on, then?"

"I was thinking, that's all."

"You'd better stop. It seems to be taking its toll."

"Oh, shut up. I'm going to sleep. Tend the fire while I rest." Ignoring his servant's grousing, Arthur eased down onto the sandy grass and swiftly fell into a deep sleep.

Merlin watched over him the entire night.

Dawn's light filtered through the treetops overhead, warming his skin with gentle brightness. Merlin watched the wind caress the leaves and grass. It was a beautiful day to walk back. At his feet, Arthur frowned and mumbled. "Oy, dollop-head. Let's get a move on." He nudged him with his boot, to no avail. He repeated the action, probably with a little more force than necessary. The prince's eyes flew open.

"Did you just _kick_ me?"

"Don't be stupid, of course not." Merlin tossed him an apple. "There, breakfast. Eat it quick; we have to get back."

Arthur nearly snorted with laughter. "Are you giving me an order?"

"No, my lord." Merlin smothered the remains of the fire and threw their belongings into his bag while the prince struggled to his feet.

"How far is Camelot?"

"We'll arrive in a bit more than a half an hour."

"Then let's start."

Merlin had been wrong; it took the pair only ten minutes of walking before they were discovered by Camelot knights. Uther had sent them out at first light to find them. Arthur and Merlin were given fresh mounts and plenty of food, which pleased both boys greatly. In another ten minutes, they were dismounting in the citadel, grinning like idiots.

Until the King stepped down to greet them.

"What happened?" he demanded, pulling Arthur into a tight embrace. "You said you were going hunting."

"We did!" Arthur protested. Behind him, Merlin stood off to one side, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible. When Uther's glare shifted towards him, he resisted the urge to duck behind his horse. "Father, it wasn't Merlin's fault for once."

He squawked in indignation.

"We encountered a creature of magic and were forced to flee for our lives. Our horses had run off. We were left without supplies."

"My God. When your horses returned without you, I feared the worst." The King clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. "But you are here, safe and sound."

At that instant, Arthur's strength gave way. His knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground, panting hard. Merlin was at his side in an instant, ducking down to help him before Uther registered what had happened. "What is wrong?"

"Sorry, sire. Arthur was bitten during the fight." When Merlin checked the bandages, his hand came away covered in blood. "He needs Gaius."

"I do not!" Arthur protested, struggling to pull away, but Merlin held him fast, draping his uninjured arm around his shoulder and lifting him to his feet. "Let go of me!"

"Sire, please lead the way," the servant begged. Uther had no time to complain about receiving an order from a man-servant; he snapped at a passing page boy to stable the horses as he dashed towards the physician's quarters. They arrived in a moment, and Gaius hurried to the door when he saw who entered.

"Prince Arthur! _Merlin_! What has happened?"

"He was bitten by the snird," Merlin said, already laying Arthur on the sick bed. He scrambled for the table full of vials. "I managed to extract the poison, but the bite itself is still unhealed. He lost a lot of blood."

"A snird? It was fortunate you were there, Merlin. The snird's poison can be fatal if left untreated."

Despite all of his pain, Arthur's jaw slackened. "That creature was truly a snird?"

"A snake with plumed feathers?"

Reluctantly, the prince nodded.

"Then yes, my lord," Gaius affirmed. "You were lucky to escape with your life."

"No, I mean—er, it's called a snird?"

"Why, yes. What else could it have possibly been?"

At a loss for words, Arthur cast a dumbfounded look at Merlin. The servant, recognizing the disbelief on the prince's face, winked at him before returning to his work.

"He will heal, though?" Uther pressed, approaching the table cautiously.

"Undoubtedly, sire. I simply need to stop the bleeding; a small matter, with the poison removed."

"Thank God," the King exclaimed. He watched his son for a moment longer. When he finally turned to Merlin, tears stood in his eyes. "It was your doing. My son owes you his life yet again."

Uncomfortable with the unwanted scrutiny, Merlin shrugged and trained his eyes on the floor. "It was my duty."

Uther clapped his shoulder so hard that Merlin nearly toppled to the ground. "Be sure to take Arthur to his room. All of his belongings were returned there from his horse. He will need you to unpack after you tend to him."

"Yes, sire."

The King turned to face his son. "Arthur," he murmured, again an unsure father in place of a ruler. "I'm glad you're home." He left after patting Gaius on the shoulder fondly, leaving the master physician to his work.

The elderly man disinfected the wound before stitching it tightly, but Arthur made no complaints during the entire process. He simply stared at the ceiling, as if watching clouds roll by. When Gaius finished, he helped the prince ease into a sitting position. "How bad is it?" Arthur asked him.

"Well, thanks to Merlin," Gaius began, "you're almost fully recovered already. I prescribe a day's rest in order to allow your shoulder to mend a bit more. After that, I advise that you perform only light exercise for two weeks. Do not rip the stitches, or we shall start all over again."

"Of course. Thank you, Gaius."

"Rest well, my lord." At his command, Merlin helped Arthur down from the table, and remained at his side on the long walk to his chambers. Arthur managed to complete the trip without aid, though he kept his arm stiffly at his side. Neither said anything as they worked their way past the guards and knights.

When they finally reached his room, Arthur began to issue his commands. "Put my things away, Merlin. When that's done, I'll need my clothes washed and my boots polished. Make sure you get rid of every last bit of that mud. I never want to see it again."

Merlin shut the door behind them as he replied, "Oh, you're quite welcome, Prince Arthur. It was my pleasure saving your neck, really."

With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Arthur turned on his servant. "Just do as you're told, for once in your life! I'm tired and I need to rest."

"Fine," the boy huffed, tearing open the bags with a vengeance. Arthur watched him moodily toss his belongings away before he pulled himself a chair and eased into it. Now that he thought about it, the boy was likely just as fatigued… but regardless, he was not injured. He would be able to handle the chores.

Who was he kidding? The boy did save his life—he deserved a day off. Or… well, couldn't he just use his…. Arthur shook himself. No, he was not a sorcerer. He was _not_!

"Merlin."

"What?"

"Stop that for a second."

The boy stopped, albeit a bit suspiciously. "What is it?"

"Merlin, you… you're… a good servant." Hearing it spoken aloud made both of them pause. Arthur had to consciously hide his smirk—Merlin's widened eyes were downright comical. "Allow me to rephrase that," he corrected after the pause. "You're a _loyal_ servant."

"That makes more sense," the boy admitted, returning to his work.

"How many years have you helped me?"

"Five, I think."

"Good. Five long years."

Merlin mumbled, "You're telling me."

"What was that?" the prince inquired.

His servant's eyes widened again. "Hm? What was what?"

Arthur watched him guardedly as he continued. "As I was saying. Five years. And as you've proved your faithfulness"—here, he lowered his eyes to the table—"I feel it is your right to know that I'd never turn you out. You are my trusted servant. Whatever the case."

There was a prolonged moment of silence—probably some sort of record for the idiot servant, but who's counting? Arthur waited patiently to see how he reacted.

His intolerable silence was result of a play of emotions across Merlin's face. Shock, at first—he had thought that he'd escaped suspicion—then insecurity. But that was soon replaced with such a deep gratitude that Arthur returned his eyes to the table in embarrassment.

"Whatever the case?" Merlin repeated softly.

"Isn't that what I just said?" Arthur groused in reply, fidgeting his hands. "Should I use smaller words or something?"

"No, no. I simply wanted to make sure that you understood what you're implying, my lord."

"Oh?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "And what do you mean by that?"

Merlin grinned impishly. "Well, I'm sure you have something in mind, but let's just say, for example, that I don't show up for work tomorrow. That I decide to… read by the lake. Or go riding. Or maybe nab some food from the kitchen. Or all three!" He paused to wrinkle his brow. "Oh, did I mention that this was purely hypothetical?"

Already remorseful, Arthur massaged his temple. Maybe it had all been a hallucination after all. No one this… this _Merlin_ could ever be a sorcerer. "You can have tomorrow off," he allowed with great reluctance. "And you can wash my clothing later, as well. Just finish unpacking."

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Merlin had never meant that phrase more in his life.

* * *

My take on a reveal fic, then. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Please review!


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